


The Color of Love

by chewysugar



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Wade Wilson, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Dirty Talk, M/M, Movie Reference, Self-Conscious Wade, Spideypool - Freeform, Top Peter, submissive wade, there is no fourth wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade's feeling a little too self-conscious on Valentine's Day. Peter decides to rectify the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Love

It struck Wade as ironic that red was the color primarily associated with Valentine’s Day. Firstly, because it was also the color that he and Peter both wore as the most striking parts of their costumes. Secondly, because red was always associated with danger, and the merc couldn’t think of anything more daunting than a holiday wherein people showed their affection via buying flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals and overpriced pieces of jewelry.

**(Tell me about it. Although there ain’t nothing wrong with getting a fluffy Build-A-Bear that smells like cotton candy for a V-Day gift. Bonus points if it's dressed like a Chippendale’s dancer.)**

But the most ironic thing about the holiday—

**(It’s not a holiday. It’s a special occasion. Good luck getting that through your girlfriend’s skull, fellas.)**

\--was that it had its origins rooted so deeply in blood, the reddest thing of all.

**(True dat. Emporer Claudius actually outlawed marriage back in Ancient Rome because he thought monogamous porking was distracting his young soldiers. That kind rubbed Saint Val the wrong way so he started performing secret marriages. Claudius had a big old bitch fit when he found out and the next thing you know—SNIKT! St. Valentine loses his head. The More You Know!)**

**_((Listen bucko, this is MY goddamn fanfiction. I will be dispensing with the exposition here; you just stay on the sidelines, make your cutesy quips and get it on with Parker. Comprendo?))_ **

**(Bien, bien. Sin necesidad de ser un gilipollas al respecto.)**

**_((Anyway…))_ **

In addition to its bloody origins, Valentine’s Day had a bloody history in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. The Valentine’s Day Massacre during Prohibition, the Northern Illinois University shooting, Oscar Pistorius killing his girlfriend…it was enough to make the Merc With the Mouth laugh his ass of.

 At least it—

**(There was also that Valentine’s Day when Wolverine went all feral and gutted, sliced, decapitated and murdered his way through a bunch of gangbangers in this hideout outside of Red Deer. Oh, and the immortal Canadian classic film My Bloody Valentine, which was remade starring that sumptuous piece of ass, Jensen Ackles.)**

**_((WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?!))_ **

**(…I would do him…)**

  ** _((…why am I not surprised?))_**

**(…no, seriously, I don’t care what the implications are. I would wreck—nay, obliterate that man.)**

**_((You and everyone else on AO3.))_ **

**(You ain’t listening, compadre. Like, think of the most messed-up, kinky, extreme J2 story you had the misfortune of reading. I would trump it. Donald-motherfucking-Trump it. I’m talking Wren’s Erotic Library levels of aggressive, smutty, kinky, borderline illegal shit. I am willing to have him penetrate me missionary, doggy, reverse cowboy and dismounted from the ceiling. That’s how far I would go with Jensen Ackles. Things will go down, and they will go down hard.)**

**_((…))_ **

**(I have an adjective to describe sex I would have with him, and it’s hhhhaaaarddd.)**

**_((Do you want me to get to the sexy times with Peter Parker, or would you rather go on about assaulting a married, heterosexual father?))_ **

**(Hey, we’re in fanfiction land here. It’s not assault. It’s dub-con. And yes, I would like to get to the sexy times with my little cookie-wookums.)**

**_((Then shut your piehole.))_ **

At least it had been enough to make him laugh his ass off. That had been in the before time, before Peter had opened up and let him into his life in more ways than one.

Wade found that he was constantly categorizing his life into a series of befores and afters.

**(Ooh, sounds like someone saw my movie on opening weekend.)**

_**((You bet Ryan Reynolds’ pert little booty I did. Now shush.))** _

Before he and Peter had shacked up, Wade lived for nothing more than the thrill of the kill and the delivering of pain he gave each new target and anyone stupid enough to get in between him and said target. He’d lived on the run, kept people at bay , safely cocooned in an endless cycle of pain and self-loathing.

After he and Peter had shacked up, Wade had found a piece of before the before—a time that he only barely recalled now, back when pain and insanity hadn’t been the driving factors in his life, back when his skin didn’t burn and his brain didn’t catapult him into the lovechild of an Andy Warhol film and a Salvador Dali painting on molly.

He felt more under control with Peter, more at peace.

And yet, in spite of being together for nigh-on one year, Wade still felt like somebody, somewhere along the line, had fucked up royally when choosing red to be the color of love.

Red was blood; red was pain. Red was what clouded the vision with anger and blistered the skin with unending reminders of terminal, never-healing disease. Red was a warning; red was danger. Red was what he wore to let people know that he wasn’t to be fucked with.

And red was also the color the whites of his eyes turned after a night of piss-poor sleep.

He woke up, on Valentine’s Day, with pain in every follicle of his body and an empty space on the bed beside him. For several moments, Wade lay with the covers around his waist, curled up into a ball with his skin on fire.

**(Given that I’ve actually been set on fire several times, that metaphor shouldn't be taken lightly.)**

Wade squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut, and tried to find it in himself to go back to sleep. Waking up feeling like Jennifer Aniston in the movie Cake was bad enough, but waking up alone was like a cinder block to the nuts.

**(Again, I know exactly how that feels. So do my boys for that matter.)**

In the Before part of his life, waking up solo wouldn’t have mattered to Wade a whole hell of a lot. Wade had been used to waking up alone even before cancer had set up shop in his body. Now, in the year of his life anno Peter Parker, waking up alone was the worst feeling he’d ever had to deal with.

It was enough to eclipse the pain in his body.

Wade sat up and let the covers pool around his waist. The air in the loft he and Peter lived in was chilly and soothed the inferno on his skin.

He’d just figured that, since Peter was likely out dealing with the Green Goblin’s third-cousin’s ex-roomate’s step-niece twice removed, he could spend Valentine’s Day letting the cool apartment air ease some of the pain when he heard a muffled curse from the bathroom.

On the mental illness spectrum, Wade bypassed neurotic and fell somewhere between manic-depression and full blown schizophrenia. So it came as no surprise to him or the voices in his head that, after getting the warm fuzzies at hearing his boyfriend’s voice, his next reaction was to search for sweatpants and a sweater as fast as he could.

It was okay when they were asleep for Wade to be either naked or next to it. Their room was dark, and Peter had his eyes closed when they slept. He didn’t have to put up with Wade’s skin when the lights were out.

As he hobbled into a pair of sweats and a turtleneck, Wade once again pontificated on the folly of assigning red, or any color for that matter, to something like love. Red was solid and primary. Love, at least for him, was wild—a whirlpool of colors that formed an abstract mass. It scared him, thrilled him, confused him and made him feel simultaneously insignificant and utterly vital.

**(Well don’t you just have me nutshelled, Mister Fancypants McWriterface.)**

Realizing that it would look weird to be standing in front of a messed up bed with a week-old shirt on, Wade grabbed a magazine from the floor and flopped onto the sheets. Peter left the bathroom at that moment, stopping short at the sight of Wade.

“Morning hot stuff.” Peter’s smile lit up the loft and made Wade’s warm fuzzies turn into molten heat. The fact that Peter was still slightly wet from his shower, with nothing but a white towel wrapped around his slim hips didn’t exactly help matters either.

Sometimes the depths of Wade’s devotion to Peter Parker were so extreme that it hurt him almost as much as his unending pain. Peter was glorious, slim but wiry like a wildcat, with big brown eyes and lips that would put a cherry pie to shame.

Wade, on the other hand, looked like a leftover pepperoni pizza that had been left out in the sun too long.

Still, he couldn’t let Peter know just how far his self-hatred went. In the colorful confusion that was love, Wade knew (or rather, feared) what happened to those who wallowed in their own pity. Peter deserved better than that.

So, instead of wandering into the shark-infested waters of how he really felt, Wade grinned and said, “Fighting with the toilet again?”

“Sure was.” Peter flopped down on the bed next to Wade, and Wade’s blood caught a Greyhound from his brain straight down the freeway to Groin City. Having a warm, wet, nearly naked Peter so close to him was cause enough for the beginnings of a stiffy any day of the week.

“It sounded like you were winning.” Wade breathed in the smell of Peter’s icy-alpine body wash, of his clean skin. If they made a Scentsy that smelled like Peter, Wade would probably trash-talk the Scentsy parties a lot less.

“You might say I kicked the shit out of it.”

Wade laughed. “Next time maybe argue with the shower. It’s been saying that I have a fat ass lately.”

“Well it sure as hell doesn’t know what it’s talking about.” Peter’s fingers trailed up the leg of Wade’s sweats to rest on his thigh. “I can say from long and hard experience that you’ve got a great ass.”

This was one of those things that made Wade wonder if he really was good relationship material. He wanted so badly to believe that Peter really admired his body, but the jaded, cynical voice in his head—the one that convinced him that people on the street were whispering about how ugly he was even when he knew they weren’t—wouldn’t let him. Peter was just being nice. That was it; that was all.

Again, rather than drive the day to Hell in a ’57 Chevy, Wade said, “Any special reason you wanted to wash the scent of our sweet, tender lovemaking off of you at seven in the morning on a Sunday?”

“There wasn’t any lovemaking last night,” Peter said, bemused. “At least not any that I was a party to. And it’s not seven, it’s eleven-forty five.”

“Potato-tomatah,” Wade replied.

Peter smiled, a smile that made Wade feel as if he would levitate off the bed and start vomiting up split-pea soup, with the exception of the vomiting part.

“I just wanted to get all squeaky clean for you.” Peter’s hand inched its way closer and closer to Wade’s groin. Given that the front of Wade’s sweats currently had a prodigious lump in them, it wasn’t exactly hard—

**(Well, actually it was.)**

\--to see what was getting Peter’s attention. “After all,” Peter went on, lowering his head to brush his lips against Wade’s jaw, “it is Valentine’s Day, and neither of us have got any prior commitments.”

This close, Wade was able to see that Peter’s skin was still flushed red from the heat of his shower. As the feeling of Peter’s soft, warm lips against his throat continued wreak havoc on every fiber of his being (and a few fibers that weren’t of his being) Wade realized that, in the sense of Peter’s rosy skin, the greater populace of lovers and retailers might be right about red being a love color. Just not _the_ love color.

He closed his eyes, savoring the kisses Peter peppered across his neck and jaw. And when their lips finally met, Wade let himself fall into the blissful trance of momentarily not giving a flying fuck.

Peter climbed across Wade’s lap, and Wade nearly nutted in his pants at the feeling of Peter’s smooth ass riding against his hard-on. Peter gripped Wade’s shoulders and pushed his tongue past Wade’s lips, entering the warm, wet confines of Wade’s mouth. Peter nipped at Wade’s lower lip, crushing their noses together in his urgency to devour Wade’s mouth.

Their tongues danced as—

**(Oh give me a break! “Their tongues danced?” What’s next? You gonna add an Author’s Note about how that last sentence was an inside joke between you and your bestest-best friend in the whole wide world?)**

**_((…))_ **

The battle fought by their tongues was akin to that of two oiled-up, muscle-bound, Brazilian men competing in the world’s most slick, aggressive, homoerotic capoeira match.

**(Much better! Hemingway is rolling over in his grave!)**

As hot as Peter was making Wade feel physically, whenever they touched the inferno in his skin and bones always felt soothed, as if Peter’s fingers and lips were washing him with a cool cloth.

Peter’s fingers found their way beneath the hem of Wade’s sweatshirt.

Wade tried hard not to flinch or show any signs of hesitation when Peter finally made to peel his shirt off. With any other person he would have succeeded, but not only did Peter know him incredibly well by this point, he also had his spider-senses working for him

He let his hands fall away and stopped his intense lip-on-lip assault. “Wade…” Peter’s voice was warning, his eyes narrowed.

“Uh-oh,” Wade said. “Not the ‘I’m not having any of your shit,’ look.”

“I wouldn’t need to give it if you didn’t give me a reason.” Looking at Peter’s lips, Wade realized that he owed the lovers of the world another apology. They were swollen and red from the ferocity of their kissing; kissing was a result of love, ergo red had a right to be applied to hearts and roses.

But only just, and it was only two points to people who believed in that garbage anyhow. At the moment the only color Wade felt was blue with shame.

Peter sighed and slid off Wade’s lap. Wade instantly felt himself missing the delicious friction of Peter’s towel-covered cock.

“Wait! I just, uh, had a leg cramp is all! You know how my shrapnel injury plays up.” Wade slapped the top of his leg. “Twelve years since Mogadishu and it’s still a bitch and a half I tell ya what!”

Peter flopped onto his computer chair and wheeled it closer to the edge of the bed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t give a shit about your scars?” Peter’s eyes ghosted over with a haunted look. “They might mean something to other people, but not to me. All they are is a reminder of how brave you are. I know the kind of pain you suffered, baby, and it only makes me think the goddamn world of you.”

This was one of Peter’s best qualities. He had the power to render Wade completely powerless with nothing more than the weight of his words. His voice barely above a whisper, Wade said, “Know? How could you know?”

“I saw the movie, Wade.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

**(…did he just--)**

_**((What? Steal your bit and break the fanfiction fourth wall?))** _

Wade buried his face in his hand. “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s still not easy, y’know?”

“Why though? You know how I feel about you. And if the way you looked bothered me, why would we…y’know…” Peter turned faintly red—another point for the color-mongers in the world of love—and gestured at the mattress.

Wade swallowed.

**(I always do.)**

It was still hard for him—

**(As I always am.)**

\--to express what it was that he felt. Even after all this time enveloped in the warm understanding of Peter’s love, Wade still held onto the hidden ugliness inside. It far exceeded the ugliness without, tainting what lucid thoughts he’d been able to excavate from the wreckage of his mind in the last several months.

“I know you love me,” Wade finally said. He’d regrown limbs in a matter of hours, but somehow this heart-to-heart felt more excruciating. He avoided meeting Peter’s gaze, unable to stand the pity he’d find there. Pity was for those who stood a chance of recovery, and Wade considered himself far past that point.

“It’s just…well, sometimes it feels like the only way you can love me is if you look past all this.” Wade gestured at his still-clothed body.

“And that’s bad? That I love you for who you are?”

Wade sighed. “Okay, wrong turn of phrase.” He frowned, searching for what it was that he really meant to say. Given that his mind was still a blur of wanting Peter’s body, color analogies and the entire opening set-list of _Pirates of Penzance_ , it took him a while to get there.

“ _I_ can’t get past it.” He hated admitting it, and lowered his head in shame. “I know it’s fucked up to think that looks are the only thing that count, but I mean, Pete…you’re so goddman beautiful that sometimes it hurts. Like little bits of glass stuck in my brain. All I can think of is what in the fuck somebody as incredible as you is doing with someone as screwed up as me.”

The computer chair creaked. Peter was on his knees in front of Wade in a microsecond. Wade forced himself to look into those big, beautiful brown eyes. Peter was smiling sadly at him, hands on Wade’s knees.

“What am I going to do with you?” Peter laid his head on Wade’s lap, and Wade instantly twined his fingers into Peter’s brown locks. “I can’t take it all away,” Peter whispered, warm breath dancing over Wade’s crotch. “I’m trying. And I thought it was working, I really did. But I guess it wasn’t enough, huh?”

Danger lights danced behind Wade’s vision, punctuated by the warning blare of a World War Two siren. Somehow he managed to say in a breathless, trembling voice, “Are…are you breaking up with me?”

Peter’s eyes widened. He clambered onto the mattress, cradled Wade’s face in his hands and kissed him gently. “No! Fuck no! I would never do that Wade. I love you—I love how crazy you are, and how you have that fucked up sense of humor. You’re awesome and beautiful and I wanna be with you. I just don’t know what else to do to make you see that.” His head fell onto Wade’s shoulder, and Wade wrapped his arm around him, rubbing the back of Peter’s neck as they both sat there in defeated, impossible silence.

Suddenly, Peter jumped off the bed. “I’ve got it!” His eyes were lit up with inspiration, something usually reserved for a breakthrough in some nerdy discovery or the resolution of a particularly trying adventure.

“Got what?”

Peter didn’t answer right away. He went to the iPod dock on his side of the bed and scrolled through his music list. Wade couldn’t help but admire the view of Peter’s towel-covered ass bent over as he searched through his iPod.

The bluesy strains of Fiona Apple’s “Criminal” blared through the speakers. Peter sidled back to the computer chair, flopped down and swiveled so that he was facing Wade with his legs spread open.

Wade grinned. “You gonna put on a show for me, spider?”

Peter shook his head. “Uh-uh, loverboy. You’re going to put on a show for me. Yes, Wade,” Peter’s voice rose to an insistent edge at the derisive roll of Wade’s eyes, “you’re going to do this. It’s Valentine’s Day, and as a present to me, you’re going to strip. You’re going to show me how goddamn hot I think you are.”

For a moment Wade sat with his hands braced on the edge of the mattress, his mind a bog of apprehension and incredulity. But this was only Peter, he reasoned. _His_ Peter, and the kid seemed to really think the goddamn universe of him for some reason.

Wade might not have felt particularly sexy, but there was no reason that he couldn’t fake it for the man he loved. He nodded, more to himself than anything, and stood on the mattress. He found a rhythm as the song continued to play, and started moving his hips. Wade tried to remember all the tips that Matthew McConaughey had given Alex Pettyfer in Magic Mike—

**(The best and most underrated film of all time. Of all time!)**

He humped the air slowly and deliberately, keeping his eyes on Peter, who was staring at him with reverent lust. Emboldened by the blazing desire in those smoldering brown eyes—and also by the tent in the front of Peter’s towel that had returned with a vengeance—Wade peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside carelessly.

Peter licked his lips. He squeezed his length through his towel, sending searing desire through Wade’s spine. Wade fell to his knees near the pillows and crawled across the mattress like a stalking panther whose choice of prey was the leaking hardness hidden beneath the white terrycloth covering Peter’s groin.

It was Peter who growled, though. He tucked his thumb into the edge of the towel and pulled it open, freeing his hard prick. Wade ached to touch the pretty length; his eyes zeroed in on the rosy-red head of Peter’s cock, already beaded with moisture. Even through his lust, Wade ceded once more that there was something to love being red, especially if it was the sumptuous red of Peter’s glans.

Peter wrapped his fingers around his length and slowly, agonizingly, began to stroke himself. More pre-cum formed at the slit of his cock. Peter groaned and fondled his balls with his opposite hand.

Wade reached the end of the mattress and held out a hand to assist Peter in his ministrations.

Peter shook his head and kicked himself backwards so that the computer chair rolled away. “Ah, ah, ah,” Peter said, shaking his head as he continued to masturbate. “No touchie. You’re not finished yet.”

“But…I want penis.” Wade pouted, which only made Peter smirk.

“Show me yours and you get mine.” Peter squeezed the base of his length and groaned. “Better make it a good show or I might bust before I’m up in that tight ass of yours.”

**(Oh yes…oh fuck yes, is anyone else in here wet right now?)**

The fire smoldering in Wade’s belly turned supernova at Peter’s words. He loved it when the man he loved got all Alpha because it was so unlike his usual demeanor.

Wade clambered to his feet. The song changed from “Criminal” to “Push It” by Garbage, and that was exactly what Wade decided to do.

He made a show of flexing his chest muscles, forgetting about his scars and his hang-ups and pain. He was sex on legs to the beautiful man in front of him and he was going to milk that as much as Peter was milking his own dick.

Wade ran his hands down his bare chest to the aching hardness in the front of his sweats. He made a show of stroking and cupping himself through his pants, moving in time to Peter’s own languorous rhythm. Keeping one hand on his nuts, Wade ran the other over the flat planes of his abdomen. He tucked a finger into his waistband, pulling his sweats low enough to flash the skin of his hips.

Peter leaned forward in his chair and gave his dick another squeeze. He let out a whispered “fuck”, and Wade knew that he was closer than he was letting on.

So, of course, it only seemed fair to Wade that he turn around and yank his sweatpants down to his ankles.

Peter groaned in frustration, even as Wade wiggled his ass at him. “Hey,” he said, “if you’re gonna make me wait then I’m gonna throw it right back at you.”

“You’re infuriating,” Peter rasped. And when Wade dipped forward and spread his legs, Peter let out an actual growl that made Wade’s own tumescent cock twitch.

“Like what you see?” Wade pressed his palms to the sheets and looked at Peter from between his spread legs. Wade’s nuts dangled enticingly under his rock-hard length, which was oozing hot pre-cum onto the covers beneath him.

Peter’s fist was pumping his dick for all it was worth, and from where Wade was posing it was worth about the same amount of money that North America owed China.

Wade ran a finger along the back of his cock, pushing the hard length between his balls. “Am I this sexy, bug boy?”

“Yes,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “Fuck yes.” He was losing control of the situation, and Wade loved it.

“Am I sexy enough for you to eat me out like this?” Wade’s hole tingled at the idea of Peter slipping his warm, slippery tongue between his cheeks. His nuts boiled with aching need to find release.

“Yes!” Peter groaned again. He pushed the chair forward, but before he made contact, Wade turned around and backed away to the headboard, his cock bobbing before him. He smirked down at the disbelieving frustration on Peter’s face. Peter exhaled slowly, and then wheeled the computer chair backwards to his desk. Before Wade could ask what he was doing, Peter wheeled back around and fired a line of webbing to Wade’s torso from the web-shooter he’d swiped from the desk drawer.

Wade didn’t even have time to be surprised before Peter tugged him off the bed and halfway across the room to land with his legs spread on either side of Peter’s thighs. Inertia sent the computer chair even further across the loft, sending both Peter and Wade toppling off the chair and over the arm of the sofa.

Breathless at the sudden feeling of having Peter’s hot skin against his, Wade instantly crushed their lips together. Air vanished as they devoured each other’s mouths.

Peter flipped them over, pinning the bigger man beneath him. He sat up, grinning down at Wade as if he was good enough to eat.

After finding enough oxygen to formulate coherent speech, Wade rasped, “What happened to that famous patience I’ve heard so much about?”

“It did a murder-suicide with your self-consciousness.” Peter’s nipples were pebbled from want, and Wade wanted nothing more than to taken them between his teeth. He reached out a hand, but Peter caught him by the wrist and held his arm over his head. Wade’s other hand joined it in exile not a second later. Peter was back in control, and Wade wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**(Wow, look at you remembering that I’m canonically submissive.)**

**_((I know right! It’s almost like I’ve actually read a few of your comics or something!))_ **

Peter’s teeth nipped at Wade’s neck as he pressed closer to him. Wade squirmed, his cock flush against Peter’s stomach. Peter nipped and licked at Wade’s skin, trailing a hot path to his chest.

“Have I ever told you how fucking amazing you taste?” Peter’s tongue pressed against Wade’s hard nipple, eliciting a hiss from the merc. “Everywhere. You taste like peaches, and I fucking love peaches.” Peter bit down on the hard bud; Wade bucked, grinding his and Peter’s dicks together and making Peter groan.

Normally they would have drawn it out longer, especially given that neither of them had any other plans for the day. But Wade’s little striptease had obviously gotten Peter more turned on than either of them had anticipated. One second Peter was going to town on Wade’s nipple and the next he was sitting back on his haunches, tapping his pretty prick against Wade’s waiting pucker.

Wade was more than ready and—

**(Hey! Hold the dong for one hot minute there, bub!)**

_**((WHAT?!))** _

**(You haven’t gone into loving detail about my Anaconda yet!)**

_**((I am not extolling the virtues of your Canadian Bacon to these people! It’s AO3; it’s an E-rated story. If they don’t know what a man’s dickory-dock looks like then they can Google it, now shut up and let me get to the porking already!))** _

Wade was more than ready and as he spread his legs apart he felt as if he’d never even heard of sweet lady cancer. He was everything to this remarkable man, this studious, kindhearted, beautiful man who could see past Wade’s outside, through his tumultuous inside to the person he wanted to be.

To the person that Peter Parker made him be.

“Kiss me,” Wade breathed. “Please…kiss me.”

Peter obliged, his lips capturing Wade’s like he’d been starving for it. Wade slipped his tongue into Peter’s mouth, drowning in the hot dominance of Peter’s lips and tongue, of the warm taste of him.

He felt Peter’s fingers probing between his cheeks. Peter broke their kiss, their faces millimeters apart. Both men were breathless, their faces flushed. Wade gave up at that moment—red could be the color of love all it wanted so long as it was flushing Peter’s face with aching need.

Peter pressed his long, slender middle finger into the tight muscle of Wade’s flesh. Wade arched against him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head at the delicious, invasive feeling. His arms were still obediently above his head, and he had no intention of moving them. He loved being at Peter’s mercy.

Peter continued to glide his finger in and out of Wade’s ass, but already Wade found himself craving more, needing more.

“Peter…” His voice came out as a hoarse croak. Peter chuckled and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“My greedy boy wants more?” He curled his sheathed finger and stars exploded behind Wade’s eyes.

“Fuck yes!” Wade cried. Between the friction of his hardness grinding against Peter’s and Peter’s finger teasing his tight channel, Wade knew he wasn’t going to last as long as he usually did.

**(Which is a long time, just fyi.)**

Chuckling, Peter fired a line of webbing from the web-shooter in his free hand. A split-second later, Wade saw a box of condoms and a bottle of lube fly into Peter’s waiting hand.

Slowly, Peter slid his finger out of Wade’s pucker; Wade felt each delicious bump of Peter’s knuckles as he withdrew. Wade thought his nuts were going to explode, a sensation not at all helped when Peter gave them a quick, playful slap with the hand that had been working his ass.

“Mph,” Wade grunted as more pre-cum dribbled out of the head of his cock. “Unnecessary roughness.”

Peter smirked as he flicked the cap of the lube open. “You’re not asking me to stop are you?”

“You stop and I’ll shove that web-shooter up your ass.”

“Mmm, sounds kinky.” Wade had to admit that that did sound pretty kinky. He made a mental note to file it away for future use.

Peter tossed a red foil packet to Wade. “This is all you, stud.” He smiled, and Wade sat up, tearing the packet open with his teeth. He made slow work of sheathing Peter’s cock inside the condom, his touch reverent and lingering. Peter’s Adam’s apple bobbed as Wade pulled the latex down to his base.

“That’s a tight fit,” Peter said with a stifled groan.

Wade grinned and lay back down against the cushions of the sofa. “Safety first, Tiger.” Peter chuckled and dribbled copious amounts of lube onto his sheathed cock. 

**(That’s right kiddies. Deadpool thinks condoms are cool!)**

Peter braced himself on one arm as he guided his cock to Wade’s entrance. Wade’s eyes never left Peter’s for a second as Peter pushed himself into Wade’s hole. Wade moaned at the full feeling, his breath stuttering as Peter filled him inch by hard inch. Nothing in the entire multiverse compared to this sensation, this magnificent slow burn.

The muscles in Wade’s arms twitched. He locked eyes with Peter at the exact same moment that Peter sheathed the last inch of his cock inside Wade’s ass. They didn’t need to speak; Peter knew exactly what it was that Wade needed. He nodded his permission, and Wade wrapped his arms around Peter, nails digging into the flesh of Peter’s back as Peter pulled out only to thrust back in.

As natural as it was to Wade to submit to Peter, he hadn’t earned the moniker of the “Merc With the Mouth” for nothing. He loved that Peter was kind, quick-witted and a complete geek, but he loved driving him fifty shades out of his fucking mind with pleasure a hell of a lot more.

And, as Wade had discovered in the almost year that it had been since they’d first gotten down and dirty, nothing worked better than his talking like James Deen in a Brazzers video.

“Uh, fuck, your cock feels so fucking good.” Wade’s voice was a ragged whisper in Peter’s ear as he continued to ride him. A shiver went up Peter’s spine, making Wade grin like a porn star. “Feels so damn good when you stretch my ass wide open, Tiger. Oh fuck yeah. Fuck, I can feel you.”

“W-Wade,” Peter groaned. He bit down on Wade’s shoulder, sending waves of white-hot pleasure rolling through Wade’s body.

“You getting close, baby? Yeah you are.” Wade held on tighter as Peter started pounding into him with renewed vigor.

**(You may be asking yourself, “But how can a scrawny dude like Peter Parker support the bodacious bod of Uncle Deadpool?” Great question, inquisitive assholes! Let’s just say that there are perks to having a boyfriend who can lift ten times his own body weight…And if you ever call my boyfriend scrawny again I’m gonna come to your house and kick your parents to death while you watch!)**

“Fuck yes!” Wade cried. He was crushed to Peter’s body, his own cock pressed between them, leaking pre-cum as Peter continued to fuck into him. “Yeah, Tiger, keep fucking me like that. Aw fuck!”

“Gonna…come,” Peter groaned.

“You gonna come in my ass, Tiger?”

Peter growled again, pulling all the way out and then slamming himself home again. “Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, nuzzling Wade’s neck.

Wade threw his head back, and Peter lost no time in branding his throat with scorching kisses. “Fuck yeah,” Wade rasped. “Nut in my butt, Peter. Aw fuck, I’m your little slut and you’re gonna fill me up with all that hot jizz and get me pregnant.”

Peter stopped the earnestness of his thrusts and gave Wade a flat look. Realizing his little faux pas, Wade laughed nervously and said, “Sorry, babe. Got caught up.”

“Get caught up in this.” Peter smiled wickedly and thrust hard and fast. Wade wasn’t prepared for the sudden renewed interest in making his ass the new Ground Zero. His balls were boiling; the head of his prick felt ultra-sensitive as he ground into Peter’s belly.

Peter let out a choked groan. “Here it comes,” he panted. “All for you, baby. Only for you.” Once, twice, three more times Peter hit Wade’s sweet spot. He buried his face in Wade’s shoulder, his hips jerking as he cried out, “Ah fuck, Wade! Fuck!” 

Wade fell back against the sofa cushions, still clutching Peter to him. “Oh God,” Wade groaned. Peter’s hand snaked between them and wrapped around Wade’s slick dick. He jerked Wade off with expert strokes, gliding from base to sensitive, slippery head. Peter pulsed inside of Wade one last time. 

With the last stroke of Peter’s hand, Wade’s orgasm ripped through him. Rope after rope of creamy ejaculate spurted from Wade’s cock, coating his and Peter’s bellies in pearly essence.

**(Is anyone else craving Greek yogurt right now?)**

Peter made to pull out, but Wade stopped him with a feather-light touch to his arm. “Kiss me first,” he said, his voice a breathless whisper. Smiling gently, Peter brushed Wade’s swollen lips with his own.

“So,” Peter said, collapsing onto Wade as he pulled out and peeled the condom off of his length, “how do you feel?”

Wade smiled, pulling Peter into his arms and kissing the top of his head. “Like a pretty princess,” he replied.

Peter chuckled, and Wade frowned. “Ah, so I reach the epiphany you expected of me and this is what I get?”

“No, baby,” Peter said. “It’s that.” He nodded at the iPod dock. Wade heard the sounds of ZZ Top’s “Pearl Necklace” playing from the speakers. “Just seems a little ironic,” Peter added, gesturing at their cum-coated stomachs.

Wade rolled his eyes. “It’s not really a necklace. More like a girdle.”

And besides, white wasn’t the right color for what Wade was feeling. It was the color of what he was feeling on his skin and inside his ass, but not what he felt for the man in his arms.

He loved Peter, and love, like Peter’s swollen lips, glistening glans and flushed face, was undeniably, perfectly red.

**Author's Note:**

> **(Aww, isn’t that just the sweetest thing? I think I’m getting diabetes along with all my other incurable diseases! I’d like to thank me for being so goddman hot; chewysugar for writing such an easy-to-read yet gay-friendly story; AO3 for Donald Trumping Fanfiction.net. Thank you to Peter for being so fuckable and perfect. Also, thank you India.)**


End file.
